All In
by charrrmed
Summary: Haunted by the fall of the prison, Michonne and Rick each reconcile with who they've become. Awed by Michonne's courage, Rick offers to pay his debt. Impressed by Rick's protectiveness, Michonne offers to pay hers. Companion piece to Try.
1. The Dawn, Part 1

**A/N:** The majority spoke, so here is the story in full! I'm sorry it took so long to publish. This is a companion piece to **Try** , so if you haven't read that story, please do, because this one contains a lot of references to it and is a continuation of Michonne and Rick's emotional journey.

* * *

 **The Dawn, Part 1**

Carl was at the door, but the peephole was too high for him to see. His father was slumped against the couch with an amazed smile on his bruised face. "Dad, who is it? Who is it?!" he whispered urgently.

Rick looked at him, unable to believe the words he was about to utter. "It's Michonne." Or he was seeing things again. He was about to find out, because Carl took off like a shot to pull back the couch.

It was heavier than it looked. Carl would ask his dad for help if he was feeling any better. Rick did what he could by moving away from the couch to slump against the door. He looked through the peephole again.

There she was. Still there. Crying, and smiling, and visibly relieved. He hoped to God that he wasn't making her up.

She knocked again.

"We're coming!" Carl yelled, his heart thundering in his chest. He wouldn't believe that it was Michonne until he saw her for himself. When he'd created enough space, he moved to the other end of the couch and pushed it with his lower back, using his legs to propel himself.

Once there was enough space, he moved to quickly untie the door lock he'd set up: an hdmi cord, one end tied to the door handle and the other tied to a structure on the wall. It would also serve to slow anyone down if they barged through the door.

He finished untying the cord from the handle and hurriedly whispered, "Dad, move."

Rick hobbled away from the door.

Carl wrenched it open. And there she was.

There he was. Michonne looked down at the little figure before her, unprepared for the emotions that flooded her. Relief, love, comfort, familiarity. Happiness. Vindication. She'd decided to try, and here they were. She removed the sword from her back and kneeled, stretching out her arms.

Carl took off and slammed his body into hers in his haste to hug her. She didn't falter, though. And for the first time in a long time, he was lifted off of his feet.

Michonne gathered him and stood, and he wrapped his legs around her. She shivered from the fierceness with which he hugged her. She completely fell apart, crying as she alternated between hugging him tight and touching all over his back and head to make sure that he was really there, that she'd really found him. To go from wandering among walkers to this intense show of what it meant to be alive…

Her chest heaved as she cried. She carried Carl's full weight and crossed the threshold to enter the house.

"How'd you find us?" Carl asked as he faced her, his voice hitching from his unshed tears.

"I tracked you," she said, smiling as she absorbed his beautiful face into her memories. "From a candy wrapper and some footprints," she said in disbelief. It could have been impossible. The trail could've turned cold. She could have found their dead bodies. Or she could have found them lifelessly roaming around, ready and willing to attack her when she found them.

But none of that came to pass. They were alive.

"You found us," Carl said, smiling. Just like his father had found him and his mother a year ago.

"I did," Michonne whispered as she ran her hand over his hair.

She looked at Rick, then.

Rick tried to stand taller, as if he hadn't been all but dead earlier. As he looked at her, if someone, some divine being asked him what he wanted in that specific moment, he would answer that he wanted her to rush into his arms the way Carl had rushed into hers. The worst thing imaginable had happened to him. And now Michonne had delivered herself to his doorstep. Again.

"You look a lot worse for wear," she quipped softly, so happy to see him.

"You should've seen me earlier," he responded hoarsely.

"He was unconscious. Forever," Carl supplied. He extended his legs, and Michonne set him down.

One of Rick's shirt sleeves was completely gone. His left eye was smaller than his right eye, and he had an ugly cut on his cheek.

She had no problem believing that he'd looked worse earlier. She'd practically carried him after she'd saved him from the Governor.

She couldn't stop staring at him, however. Not because of how he looked, but because he was standing in front of her. She'd found him.

"I don't get get a hug?" Rick asked. He sounded light-hearted, but now that he'd said it he seriously wondered if she would hug him.

He stopped wondering when she took large steps to get to him and cradled his still-tender face.

Michonne committed every detail to her memories. Closing her eyes, she hugged him.

Rick's eyes fluttered closed, and he relaxed into her, splaying his hands on her back to touch as much of her as possible. And similar to Carl, Michonne ran her hand down his back to reassure herself. And to let him know that she was alive, too.

They separated, and she gently cradled his face again, her smile wide and her eyes wet. He was smiling, too, and she thought to herself that she could not have continued on with walkers when there was a chance that she could see his smile again.

Just one more to go, and her day would be complete. "Where's Judith?" she asked expectantly as she lowered her hands.

Rick's beautiful smile slowly fell away, so slowly that she didn't understand. His eyes clouded. His lips parted. And she didn't understand. She searched his face, trying to get it. Trying to figure out why his face was changing.

Her smile wobbled, but it was still intact, even as her stomach fell to her feet. She refused it. She refused the dread that tried to fill her. She looked to Carl, who had moved around to keep her in his line of sight when she'd gone to hug his father.

"Where is she?" she asked, forcing her smile to stay in place, forcing it to be as strong and bright as it had been when Carl had opened the door. As bright as it had been just two precious, blissful seconds ago when she'd been hugging Rick.

She tried to say something to Carl, maybe ask where again, but her voice stuck. Her mouth moved, but nothing came out. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but she thought it was nothing. Nothing. There was no reason for them.

She looked at Rick again.

There was no reason for them.

"She-"

He couldn't speak either.

Michonne bit her lip and took two steps back, her eyes darting between the two of them as a cold sweat broke out on her skin. Carl. She wanted him to take his eyes off of the floor.

He did, and they were shining with unshed tears when he fixed them on her.

"No," she said defiantly. She looked at Rick and shook her head.

"We, uh-"

Stuck. Again.

"No," she repeated. She scanned what she could see of the house, and she trained her ears, listening for Judith. A babble, a cry, something to let her know that she was nestled somewhere, out of sight and safe.

"Michonne," Rick called her.

She looked at him, and his tears fell. And her heart broke. "No," she whispered. She covered her face with her hands, and her own dam broke.

Carl came up to hug her, and she kneeled to return it. His body shook as he cried, and her heart shattered into smaller pieces. "No," she cried.

Not after Andre. Not after she'd dreamed about him and been reminded of why she needed to try, why she needed to make the effort and risk finding them. All three of them.

Rick limped forward to close the short distance between them. She lifted Carl again and shifted him to one arm, and she held her hand out to Rick. He walked into the embrace. He put one arm under hers beneath Carl's butt and the other around her waist. He rested his head against the crook of her neck as she and Carl each put an arm around his shoulders.

Carl openly cried while Rick suffered silently through his grief.

When her arm fell asleep under Carl's weight, she shifted to set him down, and Rick disengaged from her.

"What happened?" she asked Rick once she'd straightened. Usually, she would mind Carl, but it was clear that he knew what had happened, so there was no need to protect him.

As a matter of fact, it was he who answered when Rick only shook his head. "The walkers got her. We went to find her, and her...the car seat was empty. There was blood all over it."

Michonne shook her head. A sliver of hope. That was her immediate reaction. "That doesn't mean anything," she said to Rick. She looked at Carl again. "You didn't see her? I mean...you didn't see a body?"

Carl frowned, not understanding why seeing a body would've made things any better. "There was blood."

"I know, but that doesn't mean-"

"Michonne," Rick stopped her.

She looked at him, and helplessness made her blood run cold. So much gunfire. So many people. So many walkers. The invasion had been fucking vicious. If a walker hadn't gotten Judith, a stray bullet would have.

They'd been woefully unprepared.

* * *

The news of Judith's death dampened the happiness and relief they'd all felt upon reuniting. Rick offered her some of the dry cereal he and Carl had been eating, and she gratefully accepted. She was starving. First, however, she retrieved her katana from the porch. She cast her eyes about the street to make sure no one else was around, and then she went back inside and closed the door.

She pushed the couch to the door while Carl tied the cord around the door handle again.

Carl and Rick sat with their backs against the couch, and she sat facing them. She took off her gloves to eat. She asked them about the house.

"It's got three bedrooms: one master, two kids. Two bathrooms, a balcony, kitchen's pretty narrow, and it's got a basement you can only access from the inside. There are three dead bodies down there."

Her heart jumped. "There are dead bodies in here?"

"Yeah. Two women, one man. All look to be in their sixties. They opted out."

"I told him all of this, except for the ages," Carl said. "He just had to make sure for himself."

Michonne smiled at him. Shifting her gaze to his father, she said, "Shouldn't have been straining yourself, Rick."

"I double checked. An extra pair of eyes never hurt."

She took a deep breath and released it. "So it's just us."

"Far as we know," Rick said.

"Did you see anyone?" Carl asked.

"No. I didn't make it that far from the prison, but I never saw anyone. Never even heard anyone. I...I saw everything that happened, and I...I left."

Her eyes were on the burgundy rug on which Rick and Carl sat, but her mind was on Hershel. She was jostled out of her reverie when Carl hugged her. Surprised, she smiled and returned his hug, closing her eyes.

"I thought...I thought he was gonna kill you," he said on her shoulder.

"I thought it for a second," Michonne replied. "But thinking about it now, I think he'd already made up his mind. He knew he who he was willing to kill. I don't know why it wasn't me. Maybe he hoped to make it worse for me."

Carl let her go and sat on his knees.

"I'm so happy to see you," she said quietly, as she lifted her hand to caress his cheek.

"I'm happy to see you, too," Carl beamed.

She ruffled the back of his hair, and he scooted back to rejoin Rick.

"I went on a run on my own today," he declared.

"Yeah?" She looked at Rick, impressed.

Rick shrugged. "I couldn't do anything about it. I didn't even know when he left."

"Wait, so you brought this stash?" she asked Carl.

"Yep. I fought walkers, too."

Her impressed look swiftly turned to one of worry.

"I'm fine," Carl said. "Obviously. But here's what happened."

It was the second time that Rick was hearing the story, and Carl looked a lot more excited to tell it to Michonne. He smiled, content to look at her while he listened to him.

After concluding his story, Carl asked Michonne what happened after she left the prison. He asked her if she ran into any walkers of her own. She kept her answer simple. She said yes and that she had taken care of them.

* * *

After they finished lunch, Michonne checked out the house for herself. An extra pair of eyes never hurt.

The trio in the basement were Asian-American. Michonne found this interesting, because the pictures in the house were of a White family. She wondered how the trio had made it to the house. She wondered how long they'd survived before they'd decided there was no way out. She wondered _what_ they'd survived. Their tattered clothes told her that they hadn't been in the house long enough to avail themselves of what was in the closets. Or maybe they simply hadn't seen the need.

From the looks of things, they had each pulled the trigger. One of the women had been the last. Carl had taken the Beretta from her lap when he'd found the bodies.

Michonne left the basement and closed the door behind her.

Carl had found food but not enough. They had two jars of pickles, the box of cereal, one box of oatmeal, a bag of cheese puffs, and five bottles of water. She was worried.

Before she focused on that problem, though, she decided to rummage through the closets to look for fresh clothes for her, Carl, and Rick. Carl wanted to help her sort the clothes, but she told him to stay downstairs with his father. However, Rick offered to join her wherever she was, so she helped him up the stairs to the master bedroom. She and Carl used that room as the base and gathered the clothes from the other two bedrooms.

They decided not to change their clothes until tomorrow. There was no point in changing tonight. Until they had more water, they couldn't use the bottles they had for anything but hydration anyway.

It was a problem. They didn't have enough water to drink comfortably, and they didn't have enough food to last one week. Not for the three of them. That was a problem for her, especially because of Carl.

Rick watched her as she separated the clothes, and he could see the wheels turning in her head.

When she and Carl were done separating, Michonne announced a plan to go for a run first thing tomorrow. Carl volunteered to go with her. She shot him down.

"You need to stay and take care of your dad," she said. "He can't be alone."

Carl looked at Rick for backup, and Michonne was surprised that the senior Grimes hadn't objected along with her.

"I'll see how I'm feeling in the morning," Rick said to Carl as he rested against the headboard. "If I'm not good enough, then you can go with her."

Carl turned to her with a smile.

She ignored him and focused on Rick. "Excuse me. You can't be left alone. I almost carried you up the stairs."

"Not _almost_. It was worse yesterday. I walked to this house, you know."

"That's probably why you fell unconscious as soon as you got here. You shouldn't be moving. _Or_ _straining yourself_ ," she said, remembering that he'd checked out the entire house. "You need to rest."

"I plan to do that tonight," he said lightly.

Michonne gave him a flat look. He wasn't taking this as seriously as she was. As a matter of fact, she was pretty sure he was bantering with her. She saw the little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

She let the matter go. She could put her foot down tomorrow.

She put her hands on her hips and asked, "Is there anything I can do to make you comfortable?"

"No," he answered. "We can't use the water to clean me up, so I'm good."

She agreed about the water. She walked over to his side of the bed and sat down. She put the back of her hand to his forehead and then his right temple.

"You're a little too warm, but I don't think it's anything to worry about. Do you feel cold or anything?"

"No, just some pain. A lot of some pain."

She smiled and shook her head. At least he was in a jokey mood. Before she dropped her hand, she surreptitiously caressed his temple. The way he looked at her told her that she wasn't _that_ surreptitious.

"Wanna play a game?" she asked suddenly as she turned to Carl.

"A game?" Carl asked with interest.

"Yeah."

"Sure," he shrugged, immediately remembering the one time that they'd played baseball at the prison. While she'd been gone, after the week during which his dad had given her a tour of the prison, he'd asked Rick if they could find a baseball, or something similar to one, a bat and maybe some gloves so that he could show Michonne how to play baseball when she returned. He'd known that the gloves part had been a stretch. Nevertheless, they'd made it happen. His dad had taken him on a run, just the two of them, and they'd found everything they'd needed.

When Michonne had returned, they'd played a fun and hilarious game in the prison yard. He'd come up with their team name, the King County Asskickers. Judith had been the owner of their team. The King County Asskickers had consisted of him, his dad, Michonne, Daryl, Maggie, Bob, Mika, Dr. Caleb, and Tyreese.

On the other side, Glenn had named the team the Atlanta GuardTowers. Unbeknownst to him, Rick and Daryl had given Glenn a knowing look, figuring he and Maggie had gotten nasty in one of the guard towers very recently. Unbeknownst to him, Maggie had wanted to strangle Glenn for the name.

The Atlanta GuardTowers had consisted of Glenn, Beth, Sasha, Lizzie, Carol, Karen, David, Zach, and Patrick.

He'd been convinced that Karen hated Zach by the end of the game; Maggie and Glenn had talked smack about each other and each other's team; and he'd laughed and laughed until no sound came out.

Remembering that day felt so good that he almost thought the prison was still standing. He almost thought they could go home. But they couldn't. The prison was gone and so were most of the people who'd lived in it, more likely than not.

"I'll play," he answered again. "What can we play though?"

"Charades," Michonne answered as she stood. It was her favorite game. But she immediately saw a problem. Carl would most likely not get her pop culture references, and he and Andre weren't in the same age group. She had no idea what he'd watched or listened to before the change.

So she used Rick as a bridge. He could guess, but he wasn't going to act anything out in his condition. When it was her turn to act, he whispered to her a movie that Carl had seen, song he'd listened to, or book he'd read. She didn't need his help as much with the books, because she used the ones she'd brought him from her search for the Governor, acting out titles and characters.

Rick was very judgmental about her and Carl's acting skills. They challenged him to do better when he got better. Rick knew that he'd made himself a target for the two of them, but he looked forward to it.

They played until the sun got low in the sky, laughing with and at each other.

As sunlight faded, Michonne asked Carl if he wanted to eat anything, telling him it was okay if he ate a little more. He declined, revealing that he'd eaten a full can of chocolate pudding earlier.

Michonne raised her eyebrows. "You're lucky you're not sick. Maybe I should keep my eye on you tonight. Speaking of which, I'll keep watch," she announced. "I'll sleep on the couch. You're in this bed, Rick, and Carl you can join him."

"I can have my own room," Carl suggested.

"Is that okay?" she asked Rick.

"Yeah. But there's no one to relieve you."

"It's fine, and don't you dare suggest something different."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said with a smirk.

He was flirting with her again. Michonne kept her composure.

She and Carl collected sheets and pillows from the third bedroom and made her bed downstairs on the couch.

Once they were done, she pulled the couch away from the door and said, "I'm gonna do a round around the neighborhood to make sure we're still the only ones here. Can you put the food in the kitchen, please?"

"Yeah," Carl said, and he got started.

"I'm gonna tell your dad I'll be back."

When she stepped into the room, Rick was lying on the bed with his shoes off.

"You should've waited for me to do that for you," she said as she approached the bed.

"I had it," he said.

"You shouldn't-"

"Be straining myself," he finished for her. "I'm fine, Michonne. I mean, clearly not _fine_ , but I'm not broken."

"You're clearly broken," she deadpanned.

"I mean I'm not impotent."

"I just don't want you to do anything to set your recovery back."

They shared a silent moment, then. He recognized that she was worried. She had reason to be. He felt terrible and not just physically. "I wanna talk to you," he quietly said to her.

"I know," she returned quietly. She saw the sadness in his eyes and wanted to hold him. "I wanna talk to you, too. I'm gonna go scout the neighborhood, make sure we can sleep with both eyes closed. I'll...I'll tuck Carl in when I come back, or at least make sure he's okay, and then we'll talk."

He nodded, hoping she would do the fastest scouting ever so that she could be back here with him.

She hesitated and wondered if she should kiss him. Her uncertainty was evidence of the trauma of the Governor's attack. It was so sudden and destroyed everything in its path. How long must the whole thing have taken? Five minutes? Seven? In seven minutes, her whole way of life had changed.

Because of seven minutes, she had to change her outlook of the future. She had to differentiate between what was still possible and what wasn't. Ending her search for the Governor and staying at the prison was no longer possible. Kissing Rick, however, that was still possible. That hadn't changed. She hoped. Grief and trauma did things to people.

"Come here," Rick said as he extended a hand out.

A hesitant smile twitched on her lips. It hadn't changed.

She took the steps to get her next to him, and she leaned in and kissed him, chastely pressing her lips against his, thankful for the contact, for the sameness.

She lifted to find that his eyes were still closed. He opened them, and she saw what she felt reflected back to her. Thankfulness.

"Come back," he said sadly.

"I always do."


	2. The Dawn, Part 2

**The Dawn, Part 2**

Michonne returned to the house an hour and a half later. The neighborhood was empty except for them. She'd gone through each of the houses, looking for nothing except for people. She trusted Carl when he said there was nothing salvageable in the houses on their block. She trusted his competence.

She returned to the house they occupied with no worries. The house was dark. Moonlight barely penetrated the curtains. The cell block at the prison had let so much light in.

She told herself not to make comparisons. It was useless at this point.

A flashlight came on and revealed Carl waiting for her on the couch.

"We only have one, and one set of batteries. I don't wanna waste them," he explained.

She nodded and took off the katana. "It's clear out there. You ready?"

"Yeah."

She took off her gloves and put them on the couch with the katana, and she followed Carl to the stairs.

"Did you check on your dad while I was gone?" she asked as they climbed to the second floor.

"Yeah. He told me he was fine and that I should stay downstairs in case you needed help. I was gonna go back and forth between you guys, but," he ended with a shrug.

"He hath spoken," Michonne said, amused.

"Yeah," Carl answered, a smile in his voice. "I just yelled up from time to time to ask him if he was okay, and he yelled back."

Michonne shook her head. They were a riot.

"I'm back," she called out to the master bedroom before she turned to go inside the room that would be Carl's for the night.

"Okay," Rick called back.

When they entered the bedroom, Michonne took it in for the second time. Posters decorated the walls, video games crowded the tv stand and the floor, and the bed had a unique shape.

"I see why you wanted your own room," she quipped. "Did your old room look like this?"

"A little," Carl said as he sat on the bed. "Not as many games. My mom didn't want my brain to rot. A lot more baseball gear. And I always wanted a bed like this. I had a regular one."

She took the flashlight from him so that he could take his shoes off. He didn't get under the covers, because it was too stuffy for that.

"Are you comfortable?" she asked once he was on his back.

He nodded.

She sat on the side of the bed and said, "You took care of your dad. You did a good job."

"It's just the two of us. I have to take care of him."

"I'm here," she pointed out. "And I'm pretty sure he would disagree that you have to take care of him."

"He'd be wrong."

"He's your dad. He has to be wrong in that case. Tonight? I want you to sleep. Both eyes closed. I've got downstairs. Okay?"

Carl nodded.

"Goodnight."

"Don't go yet," he said, stopping her before she could get up. There was something he wanted to tell her, and he didn't know how she was going to take it. But he wanted to tell her. He had to.

"I can stay as long as you want," Michonne said.

"It wasn't all good yesterday," Carl began. "I was...I was really mad at him. Like, really mad. When he was unconscious...I said a lot of things I shouldn't have."

"Like what?" Michonne asked softly.

Carl could feel his emotions trying to get the best of him. "I told him all of this was his fault. I told him he failed to protect us. My mom. I really meant it. I thought he could've stopped all this if he'd have just…"

He averted his eyes from Michonne's for what he was going to say next. "I told him I'd be better off if he was dead. And I meant it. But then he did die," he said. He wiped the tears from his eyes, because his vision had gotten too blurry. "I thought he did. He started making these weird sounds and moving all slow like the walkers. I took the gun, and I aimed it at him," he admitted shakily as he looked up at her.

"But I couldn't do it. I couldn't pull the trigger. I didn't want to. I was _so_ scared. A million things ran through my head. I thought I should've been doing something else. I shouldn't have left him. I should've stayed and looked after him. I should've looked for medical supplies, something. He was dead, and it was because I didn't do enough. He was dead, and all I wanted was to go with him. I didn't wanna be alone. I didn't want him to leave me."

His voice hitched, and he began to cry in earnest.

"Shhh. Come here." Michonne laid the flashlight on the floor, and he sat up to receive her hug. "It's all right," she said as she rubbed his back.

"I don't know how he does the stuff he does."

"Bad things happen," she said.

"I know." Sniffing, he pulled back so he could look at her. "You didn't stop looking for the Governor, and that didn't stop him from finding us. Just because you want to protect people, just because you try to, it doesn't stop bad things from happening."

Michonne nodded and dried his tears with her thumb. "You were angry," she said.

"I don't blame him," Carl said. "It just sucks that bad things happen. Daryl, and Sasha, and everyone else...they weren't mad at him for farming. I think they understood. So I guess it's okay. I was just frustrated. But that didn't do anything. I farmed, too."

"We aren't guaranteed anything," she said. "That's something you were gonna have to learn whether the world had ended or not. It just would've been less...harsh before. Hopefully. For some people, it would've been a harsh lesson no matter what. Just in different ways."

"So what do you do? What do you do when you're not guaranteed anything, when you look for the bad guy, and you don't find him, and he still gets you?"

"You try," she said. "That's all you can do. You try your best. Your dad put his gun down not just because he thought the Governor was gone but because he trusted everyone else. He trusted Sasha, and Daryl, and Hershel. He trusted me."

Carl nodded. He could recognize that he hadn't been doing much trying. He'd been mad at his dad a lot. Frustrated. Angry. He'd had a lot of opinions. But he hadn't tried to do a whole lot. But his dad said he was a man earlier, so hopefully he could do more now.

He could also admit that it had felt good not to _have_ to do a whole lot. It still did.

"I'm happy you're here," he said to Michonne.

"Me too," Michonne replied, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "I'm happy I get to see your sweet face again."

Relief flooded him anew. She was here, and she wasn't going anywhere.

He scooted down the bed and laid down.

"Think you can sleep?" Michonne asked.

"Yeah. Don't tell my dad, okay? About any of that stuff."

"I won't. I promise. You were venting yesterday. That's all it was," she said as she smoothed his forehead. "You got enough bullets in your gun?"

"Yeah." The weapon was on the floor, near his head.

"Okay, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Following the strong urge in her heart, she laid a long kiss on his forehead. She rubbed his chest, and then she got up with the flashlight to leave. When she was near the door, he said, "You found us, just like he did."

Michonne turned to him and smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

Content, Carl turned away from the door and closed his eyes.

"You want the door open or closed?" she asked.

"Leave it a little open."

She left the door opened a crack and went up the hallway to the master bedroom.

"Hi," she greeted Rick on an exhale when she entered.

"Hey. He went down okay?"

"Yeah, he's good. I told him he could sleep with both eyes closed. Told him he did a good job with you."

"He did," he drawled. "When you showed up, though, he was ready to knock me down to get to you. I'm serious," he said when she snorted quietly. "If I hadn't moved out of the way as fast as I could, you would've found me on the floor behind the door."

Chuckling, she approached the bed and sat down. She laid the flashlight on the nightstand, at an angle so that it wouldn't shine directly in his face. He was making her laugh despite the loss he'd suffered and that further endeared him to her.

She felt his forehead again. He grabbed her hand and held it to his chest. Tears pricked her eyes. He brought the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"What happened to you out there?" he asked. "I know there's more to it than what you told Carl."

"I was...I was gonna tell you something," she whispered, trying to keep her tears from falling. "After Hershel and I finished burning the bodies, I was gonna tell you. I was gonna tell you that I was staying. I wasn't gonna go to Macon. I was gonna stay."

"You were right to keep looking," he said. "He was still out there."

"That doesn't mean you should've been. You were right to try to make a home. We were both right. I was looking, and I don't know if I was looking in the wrong direction, or if while I was heading out farther and farther, he was getting closer and closer. I don't know. And I'm not beating myself up about it. You shouldn't either."

"How do I do that?" he asked with a bewildered laugh. "I lost everything, Michonne. Including my daughter. I tried to make a home, and...I tried to make a farm, to raise...pigs. I ended up using them as bait for the walkers. When I burned their pen, I had a sinking feeling. I didn't know what it was. But it felt like I tried so hard and for so long, and I created nothing at the end of it."

Michonne squeezed his hand. "After I helped bring the medicine to our people, and with a little reality check from Tyreese and Daryl, I accepted that the prison was where I needed to be. I needed to help...I don't know...make a life there. _Stay_. Not just give myself snippets and doses and then leaving to keep from...I don't know."

"Getting attached?" he offered.

"I don't know that that was it."

"There's nothing to get attached to now."

Frowning, she said, "That's not true. I mean, you're right. There is always nothing. There's always nothing."

"What happened?" he asked again.

"I turned to nothing. Automatically. I just...I embraced it with both arms. I didn't see anyone. I didn't hear anyone. I got two walkers, neutered them, and I started walking. To nowhere. To nothing. I thought I could do that again. I tried. Those footprints I used to track you? I saw them at first and told myself they could belong to anyone. And I walked away from them. I really tried to...walk away.

But I'm not that person anymore. It didn't feel the same, no matter how much I kept walking. I dreamt about Andre," she revealed. "I lost him again. He was in my arms, and he was alive, and then I was looking at Mike and Terry, and they were...what I made them. And Andre was gone. I woke up, and he was still gone.

And I tried to keep walking. I was surrounded by walkers. And then, I...I saw this woman. She looked like Adelae, my cousin. I mean, dead ringer, Rick. Looking at her was like looking at the life I used to have while trying to recapture the life I used to have. And I snapped out of it. I snapped. Killed all of them. There is no going back," she said resolutely.

"I've settled back into my body, and I tried to climb out when things went wrong, and it didn't work. I hoped it was you. The footprints? I hoped it was you, and Carl, and...and Judith. There isn't a _home_ to go back to. But I can still stay. I can stay with you. There isn't a _place_ to get attached to, but who I am...who I'm becoming, whichever, I should get attached to that. I should."

Rick caressed her hand and then kissed her fingers. "I'm happy you're here."

"Me, too."

They fell silent. She knew that he knew that it was his turn. So she waited. She lifted his hand and laid a long kiss on the back.

Rick closed his eyes, and he saw Judith as he'd last seen her, as he'd last held her. A lump grew in his throat. "She's gone," he whispered hoarsely. "I was supposed to protect her. I was supposed to do everything for her."

She was there, in his mind's eye. Alive, swatting his head when he blew strawberries on her stomach. She'd begun to smile at him. He'd been talking to her a lot. He'd given her a tour of the prison, too. He would sit in the courtyard with her during lunch, and he would point Daryl out and talk to her about how awkward he was with the new residents.

She'd seemed to love listening to him.

The more he'd spoken to Michonne, the more he'd taken solace in their friendship and opened up, the more he'd emptied out the negative feelings of betrayal and inadequacy that Shane and Lori's deaths had filled him with. Even if he and Michonne talked about nothing more than her taste in music or the fact that he used to not trust gift cards, because they were a worse tease than credit cards. It all helped him empty out those feelings. It helped him get in touch with another part of himself.

The more he'd emptied those negative feelings out, the more space had opened up inside of him for Judith, the more the mangled shadows of her birth parents had faded from around her, and he'd seen her as her own person. He'd looked forward to waking up to her every day. To holding her, playing with her, feeding her, and putting her to bed.

One day, he'd even borrowed the picture that Carl had retrieved from King County and introduced her to her mother, to tell her who she was. He knew that Carl had already done it. But he had felt the need to.

And now Judith was gone, and he couldn't figure out how the hell her car seat had gotten there. Who had put it there? _Who_ had left her?

"I'm sorry," Michonne whispered.

He couldn't cry. For some reason, he could not cry. His heart hurt like hell, and he kept tearing up. But he could not bring himself to release the tears beyond the ones he'd initially shed when he and Carl had found the car seat. Maybe he was still processing everything that had happened.

He hoped that was it and that he wasn't somehow broken.

Eyes still closed, he squeezed Michonne's hand, searching for her comfort. She squeezed back, her heart broken for him, and for Carl, and for all of them who were lost or dead now. Her heart broke for Judith.

She remembered Andre's torn little body. She couldn't bring herself to be stubborn and insist that Judith might be alive, even if a part of her truly believed the possibility. She couldn't prove it, so she was not going to drag Rick and Carl through that.

So she lowered her forehead to Rick's, and then she rested her cheek next to his, offering him comfort, and he looped his other arm around her shoulders and held her close, their hands still clutched.

Rick relaxed, the tension easing out of his shoulders. He began to caress the back of her neck. "Do you think...do you think we were kidding ourselves? All that stuff we talked about? Do you think...we were somehow hiding from something? Trying to create something that-"

"No," she cut him off as she lifted away from him.

He opened his eyes to look at her.

"No, I don't. I think we were...letting reality be as complex as it is. Maybe it's not all sadness, and escaping, and scavenging, and pain. I for damn sure didn't know anything beyond those things for a long while. For the past two months, my reality...it changed," she said, tearing up. "It had some...levity. Some light. I don't think we were hiding; I think we were doing the opposite. You don't?"

If he said no, it would hurt her. She knew it.

"Yeah," he answered. "It was real," he decided as he looked up at her. And he wanted more than anything to go back to that. He wanted to be talking to her in the garden, noting how the sunlight kissed her skin. He didn't want to be battered and bruised, lying on a foreign bed in a foreign house in a foreign neighborhood. He wanted to go back to anticipating her return to the prison, waking up and knowing this was the day she was due to come back.

And she'd planned on staying.

She smiled at him, and he wondered what it would've been like to have her permanently stay at the prison. He knew that it was probably best to let it go. He'd told Carl not to look back as they'd limped away from the burning structure. He shouldn't look back either, not even in his mind. But looking at her now, seeing her again, he couldn't help it. He'd wanted so much for the prison. And she had decided to be there as he made it all happen.

"After I killed the walkers, I cried," she said. "I cried for everything, including the fact that I couldn't turn that switch off again. But when I was done with that, I looked around me, and I was surrounded by green grass. _Green_ ," she repeated with an amazed smile. "They were taller than those in the garden, but...of course they reminded me of you. And that day."

Rick smiled. After that day, and then that night, they'd been intimate every single day for the remaining three days until she'd left. Trying to find privacy had been fun. The library had been off limits, because it was where the Council met and Carol held storytime, plus Hershel was always in there. They'd done it in one of the guard towers two days in a row, and they'd chanced it in the garden again the day before she left.

When she'd returned, it had only been for three days. They'd played a great game of baseball the first day. She didn't know the game, but she knew how to throw. Watching her strong, sinewy arm in action, watching her throw her head back in laughter, he'd mentally flipped through all the corners and niches in the prison that would give them some privacy after the game. They'd done it in the administrative office that night, the staff kitchen the next night, and another guard tower the night before she left.

When she'd returned this last time, what was supposed to be the last time, they hadn't had a chance to do anything. She'd broken it to him that she'd only be around for one day. And she'd used half of the day to go on a supply run with Daryl, Bob, Zach, Glenn and Sasha. And then the flu outbreak had ravaged their population. And then the Governor had decimated them.

They hadn't been intimate in twenty-two days, counting today.

He reached up with his left hand now and caressed her face, starting at her temple and slowly moving down to her cheek. She leaned into his touch like she always did.

"I still owe you," he said as he lightly moved his thumb over her cheek.

"What?" she asked.

"You know. You know. The debt?" He lifted his eyebrows, hoping that would jog her memory.

Michonne mimicked him, raising her brows. "The debt? Oh my God," she said, much quieter than before as she chuckled. "Yes, you do. I owe you, too."

"Close the door," Rick said.

Michonne blinked, and her smile faltered.

Rick raised his eyebrows again. "Do it."

"Uh. No?"

"Why not?" he asked, tilting his head on the pillow as he frowned.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah," he said, like it should've been obvious.

"Rick," she said plainly, and she gave the part of his body that she could see a once-over with wide eyes, hoping he'd get her point.

He did. "My mouth works just fine and so does my tongue."

" _No_ ," she said, still shocked. "You're freaking crazy."

"All I gotta do is move down," he said, and he proceeded to do just that.

Michonne's heart jumped. "Rick," she chided as she stood. He should not be moving. And yet he was, scooting down to make more space at the head of the bed, exhaling hard in pain as he did it.

"Oh my God, _Rick_ ," she whispered. " _Stop moving!_ "

"I'm okay," he panted.

Once he'd slid down far enough for his satisfaction, she grabbed the pillow and put it under his head again as he laid there, almost spent from the effort he'd exerted.

"I don't know which way you wanna face: the headboard or the door," he said as he looked up at her.

Michonne stared down at him. He was fucking crazy. She liked him so much. "Richard-"

"Elodie."

A smile pulled at her lips. "Any other time, I would agree with you that what you need is for me to sit on your face, but now is not the time. When you get better."

"I'm already better."

She rolled her eyes.

"Michonne. If you really don't want to, then fine. But don't hesitate for me. I told you I'm fine. I told you I wasn't impotent. I won't be moving. You just need to swing over; I put my hands on your thighs, and we're good. Little movement for me."

Michonne huffed out her breath. _She_ was crazy for considering it.

"Come on," he enticed with a smile. "Let's let reality be complex."

" _Really?_ " She couldn't help but be amused, though. She observed him a moment more. He was bruised and battered. And he was smiling, his eyes warm. She gave in.

"We can't use the light," she said. "Carl's trying to save the batteries, and we need to until we find more."

"I don't need light to find you."

"My pants are coming off, Rick, you don't need to keep trying," she joked as she turned for the door to close it.

Rick smirked as he watched her.

Once they were secluded, a thought occurred to Michonne, and she became self-conscious. She knew that Rick liked the outdoors, but…

She leaned back against the door.

"What?" Rick asked slowly.

Trying her best to be nonchalant, she pushed off from the door and approached him. "May I remind you that we both have had a _day_? A full day, to be specific."

"And?" Rick probed.

Michonne clasped her hands in front of her and turned her brain off so that she could get through what she was about to say. "Rick, my last shower was yesterday morning."

Rick smiled. "So?"

"You would," she said, squinting at him.

"I get it-"

"I mean, I'm not saying it's an emergency down there or anything, just-"

"I'm not showered either," Rick pointed out.

It was true, and he looked worse than her. The front of her shirt had two holes in it, but that was the extent of the physical damage she'd suffered from the Governor's attack.

Still. "It's not like I've never gone without showering, especially after the change, and I've gone longer than this, I mean, come on, but there's a difference between not showering, and…"

Rick raised his eyebrows.

She squeezed her clasped hands. "And having a hot guy go down there when you _haven't_ showered," she finished in a distressed whisper.

"You think I'm hot?" Rick asked.

Michonne would've scoffed, but the tenderness with which he asked the question caught her off guard. "You didn't think I did?" she challenged.

"I don't know what goes on in your head. I'm kidding. I've seen how you look at me. I've seen how you walk when you know I'm lookin'."

Bashful, she bit the inside of her bottom lip. She hadn't known he'd noticed _that_.

"I think you're hot, too," Rick said. "I think you're damn fine," he said as he scanned down her petite body, his accent particularly thick.

His thickened accent was all that Michonne needed. If it was good for the goose, it was good for the gander. And this gander wanted the goose. She took off her shoes, and then her pants and underwear.

Rick's heart quickened in excitement as she neared the bed. "Throw your leg over," he directed.

"Oh, I will." She was very interested in getting the full Rick Grimes experience in this regard. "We need to turn the pillow."

He lifted his head, and she flipped the pillow so that it was vertical instead of horizontal. She turned off the flashlight and felt her way the short distance to the bed. "Let me know if it becomes too much for you."

"Yeah," Rick said.

She knew right away that he wouldn't be saying a word. She climbed on the bed, her knees on either side of him, and she angled herself with his mouth, holding the headboard for balance.

Rick was already kissing her left inner thigh. He didn't need the light to find her. He'd used the light to look his fill back at the prison. He didn't need it now to know how smooth her inner thigh was. He'd teased her enough and at length at the prison to know the petite folds of her pussy as he moved his tongue over them. He knew what it took to get her soft clit to stiffen inside of its hood.

He was familiar with her succulent taste that made his mouth water for more. The lush scent that she'd been self-conscious about only heightened his arousal. She'd saved his life, finally driving her sword through the Governor like she'd planned to from the beginning, and then she'd worked her ass off to overcome her fears and take a chance to find them.

He ate her pussy with eager veracity, making her slowly hump his face as her breath grew more and more shallow. He was finally eating her to completion, and it was exactly what he needed at the moment, to be as close to her as possible, to reassure himself by giving her something good, sharing with her something that only belonged to the two of them. He was happy to see her; he was happy to have her. They were both here, not standing as tall as they could but still standing nonetheless.

He poured all of his emotions into ravenously eating her pussy, his dick hard in his pants from her taste and the soft moans that escaped her above him.

Michonne had one hand on the headboard and the other on his head, her fingers buried in his hair. That he was finally going to use his attractive mouth to get her off was exciting. She used to fantasize about it on the road. They'd turned owing each other oral sex into a fun game, and now he was cashing in. She knew that he was good from the previews that he'd given her at the prison. She knew that he knew what he was doing, and now, finally, he wasn't going to hold back.

Her thighs trembled as he brought her closer. Her nipples were stiff in her bra. He was as sonant when he ate her as he was when he kissed her. He squeezed her ass with one hand and squeezed her thigh above the gunshot wound he'd once cruelly grabbed with the other.

He got her particularly good, and a curse trembled out of her. She was used to having quiet-as-possible sex with him, but oftentimes it got so good that restraining herself was a real challenge.

It was a real challenge now.

Rick rubbed his lips fast against her engorged clit. He knew she was close, because she'd gone from stroking his hair to holding it in her fist; she was grinding faster and faster on his face; and her juices were coating his beard.

Michonne orgasmed, and she huffed and puffed through it, whining as he _finally_ sent her careening off the edge with his mouth. It was worlds better than her fantasies.

Rick wanted nothing more than to keep going. He loved making her putty in his hands. And on his dick. And now on his mouth. He wanted to tell her to turn around so he could eat her from the other side.

Michonne moved back and hovered above his chest. She reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the flashlight. She turned it on and shined it from behind his head.

He was smiling. His beard was wet, and there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and neck. The sheen made her own smile falter.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said.

"You promise?"

"I promise." Rick licked his lips and savored her taste. He had strained himself toward the end, but it was more than worth it.

Michonne decided to believe him. "I knew you'd be good at this. That was really good."

Her taste was fading, and Rick wanted it again. He wanted to make her come again. Time was on their side, as far was he was concerned. The worst had happened. The Governor had attacked and beaten them. The way of life he'd been determined to create at the prison was no longer possible.

He wanted to enjoy himself a little more before he had to come up with an answer to the big question in front of them, before he had to force himself to create something out of the big nothing they were left with, before he had to force himself to move forward.

"Turn around and let me do it again," he said.

Michonne raised her eyebrows. She felt that she should be more responsible. But more responsible about what? The neighborhood was clear. The big bad wolf had attacked and blown their house to bits. There was literally nothing left for them to do at the moment.

Rick wanted to eat her out some more, and she wanted to let him, because she was still horny. She wanted more of his tongue. She wanted to focus on the bliss he gave her.

She swung her left leg over so that she was fully on the bed. She maneuvered herself so that her head faced the foot of the bed now.

An idea struck her, and she left the bed to grab one of the shirts she had folded and set aside.

She got back on and straddled Rick. She undid his pants, reached into his briefs and pulled his rigid dick out.

Rick moaned at the feel of her hand closed firmly around him. "Cashing in your debt?" he asked, almost moaning.

"Not yet," Michonne answered, grinning. She laid the shirt around his pelvis in a circle to catch any wayward come.

"Good," Rick said. He wanted her to make him wait a little more.

She shifted back so that her pussy hovered over his mouth again. "Ready?" she asked.

Rick grabbed both her ass cheeks and massaged them. "Yes," Rick answered, and he began.

Michonne reached for the flashlight and turned it off.

Rick's mouth was quite possibly more sinful than his hips. That was the last fully formed thought that floated in her mind before his shameless ministrations made her abandon stroking his dick, and she released a rivulet of come on his mouth, chin, and neck.

* * *

The following day, Rick stood at the kitchen counter, looking out of the window at the leaves covering the ground. He felt better than he did yesterday and definitely better than he did the day before that. He felt stronger. He privately joked with himself that Michonne's come was one hell of an elixir.

He certainly felt like a new man this morning, ready to focus on what needed to be done.

Carl's voice drifted into the kitchen from the dining room, where he was eating breakfast with Michonne. He always got loud when he was excited about something.

Rick used to talk to him about that before the change, about keeping the volume down when they were in public or mixed company.

Now, he was glad to hear it. He smiled as he listened.

"I'd rather drink Judith's formula-!"

Rick closed his eyes as grief touched him with way too much familiarity. He hated being in this space.

He heard a chair scrape across the wooden floor. He looked out of the kitchen in time to see Carl hurry by.

Michonne walked into the kitchen a short while later, and he leaned back against the counter. "Thank you for making him laugh like that, especially now."

Michonne gave him a small smile and nodded.

"I need to focus on keeping him alive. That's the priority. What you did last night was genius. Charades? I wouldn't have thought of it."

"You would've if you had to," Michonne said as she leaned on the counter behind her. She knew that Rick would do whatever it took to protect Carl. She didn't imagine that raising his spirits was off the list. She had come up with the game for all three of their sakes. Rick's spirits had needed lifting, too.

"I can't be his father and his best friend," Rick said. "He needs you for that. I need to focus on keeping him alive. That's my main priority. It's my only priority. I know it's a lot to ask from you, so if you don't want that, let me know."

Michonne squeezed the counter as she considered what he was asking. To be responsible. For a child.

"I shouldn't have asked," Rick said.

"No," she disagreed.

"I don't wanna push you-"

"I need to be pushed," she said. "It's okay. I had one foot in and one foot out at the prison, coming back and staying long enough to remind myself it was there, and then leaving...to chase nothing."

Rick didn't say anything, because he was astute enough to know that she wasn't talking about the Governor.

"I want to open myself," she said. "What are the chances that I would follow some footprints and a candy wrapper and find you, the people I was looking for? I haven't believed in signs for a long time, Rick, but...I think the fact that I found you two is a sign, and I'm taking it as a sign to be open.

I want my baby to recognize me when we meet again," she said, tearing up. "And he wouldn't recognize...the woman you met, the woman I just tried to be again. So I will be there for Carl. And you. I'm done running. I'm done being half in."

Rick wanted to nod in acknowledgment, but he couldn't. He was in such awe of her. She was courageous, more courageous than anyone he'd known, and she constantly impressed him. She inspired him to match her.

"If it ever gets to be too much, and you need a break, it's okay," he said.

Michonne nodded, thankful for his sensitivity. "I'll let you know." She took a deep breath and released it, feeling comfortable with her decision. "So what's the plan?" she asked, switching gears. "This place: is it home or just a stop along the way?"

Rick didn't know on the way to what. He hadn't figured that part out yet. It was an odd feeling to only have two people in his group. He was used to being responsible for so many more.

"Let's just stay here while we figure it out," he said. She'd done a sweep of the neighborhood again this morning, and it was still clear. They still had time.

Thankfully, she agreed with him.

"We'll definitely need supplies, then. I'm going on the run," she said, and she turned to leave.

"Carl and I will come with you."

"Nooo?" she said as she faced him again.

"You can't go alone," he said.

"I can."

"You won't carry as much," he pointed out.

Michonne exhaled then pursed her lips. "Fine. I'll take Carl."

"I'm coming, too."

"Rick, that was a compromise. I'll take Carl. You stay and rest."

"I feel fine," he said with a shrug.

"Don't give me that about your mouth again," she said, quieter. He grinned, and she almost got distracted. Her legs had felt like jelly when she'd made her way down the stairs last night. He'd been _spectacular_.

"I said I'm all in," she said at her regular volume. "This is what that looks like. We need you strong. Carl and I will do the huntin' and gatherin'. You rest. Just one more day. Consider it a miracle that I'm even willing to leave you alone."

Rick pursed his lips as he thought about it. She was right. Yesterday, she wouldn't have compromised about going by herself. He nodded. "I'll stay."

Michonne exhaled. She'd honestly expected him to keep fighting. "Good."

She turned to leave again, but Rick stopped her.

"Hey, wait," he called quietly. "Come here."

He walked to her, his limp less pronounced, and she met him halfway. He grabbed hold of her waist, and he kissed her. She immediately melted into him, and he smiled in the kiss. Like putty. He loved being the one to take her from survivor to vixen. He placed a series of kisses against her lips, almost losing himself in how good she felt.

"Last night was great," Michonne said when they separated. She could feel her libido stirring. "Just to reiterate."

Rick smiled. "Can never hear it enough. You were good, too." Her handjob had been downright masterful.

He lifted her oversized shirt and squeezed her flesh. Goosebumps rose on Michonne's skin. She firmly pushed his hands down.

"I'm leaving," she said awkwardly, and she turned for the exit. "Change your shirt."

Rick watched her go. There was an extra oomph in the sway of her hips. She knew he was watching. He bit the inside of his bottom lip. They had one more day in this house, which meant he had one more night with her, and he'd found his new favorite thing: eating her delectable pussy until it turned into a brook, and she was grunting profanely.

Twenty minutes later, he stood on the porch of the house and watched her walk off with his son. It hit him then just what he'd agreed to. He'd agreed to let his son go with her, his only remaining child, his whole life. And he realized that he would've agreed to let him go with her last night, too, without hesitation.

He wasn't afraid for Carl. He wasn't afraid that she would leave him, or lose him, or any of that. He knew she would bring him back.

He watched them go, and he realized that Michonne wasn't just his friend. She was more. He didn't know how to quantify that _more_ beyond the fact that he fiercely trusted her. He would let her lead him with his eyes closed, and he trusted that she would get him there.

He nodded, feeling comfortable as he watched them go. He turned for the door and went inside. She wanted him to rest. Maybe he'd take a nap.


	3. The Stream, Part 1

**The Stream, Part 1**

After wading in three feet of slime for food and other supplies an hour ago, Michonne was relieved to be naked and clean in the stream near Father Gabriel's church. It had taken a couple of minutes to work up the nerve to splash her body with the cold water, but now she was used to it.

Sitting on her calves, she watched the stream rush at her, hitting just above her belly button. It wasn't strong enough to carry her away or even sway her. She was taken by how well it stayed the course. She wondered how long it had been rushing. She wondered where it was going. She wondered where it came from. What other bodies of water did it connect to?

The clear water flowed hurriedly over rocks big and small, unbothered, and it broke around her body, only to resume its course behind her, same speed. Unbothered.

A serene smile graced her lips as she watched it. She'd lost and she'd found. They all had. They'd been separated and had been reunited. Most of them. Judith was alive.

All of that was inconsequential to the water. The stream just was. It was permanent in a way that none of them were.

At the entrance to the stream, at the end of the path that Michonne had taken at Tara's direction, Rick watched her. She looked like she was home, a part of the water, surrounded by the overgrown greenery of the woods. Her locs lay wet on her shoulders and beads of water dotted her skin.

He remembered that the water was her element, and he took pleasure in being able to witness her in it.

Michonne got the sensation that she was being watched, and she swung her sharp gaze to the opening in the woods on her right. She saw who it was and relaxed. She would've been screwed if it had been an enemy, because her gun was on the bank. The others were supposed to be keeping watch on the perimeter around the stream while they took turns cleaning up.

"Am I interrupting?" Rick asked, loud enough for her to hearing him over the rushing water.

She smiled. "No. I cannot tell you how good it feels to be clean again."

"So I should find out for myself, right?" Rick asked as he gestured at the noisy stream.

"I'd say so," she responded. "You didn't bring a change of clothes." Hers, taken from the spoils of the food bank, were lying on the shore.

"I didn't wanna be obvious," he said. "I thought it'd be good to be alone for a little bit."

"Come in. The water's fiiine," she teased, as she spread her hands through the stream.

A smile adorning his dirty face, Rick approached the bank. He put his gun down, then he took off his shoes and socks, and then he stripped down to his birthday suit. He walked into the water and then immediately hopped out. "Hey!" he exclaimed.

Michonne, who'd turned her body to face the water's edge, cackled with delight.

"Are you kidding me?" he asked.

"Hey, at least I had the good sense to test it first," she pointed out.

"Well, I see you lookin' all comfortable, and I figured it was safe. That's what I get for trustin' you."

Michonne pursed her lips and sent him a kiss. "Come on."

The stream could've been flowing lava just then, and Rick would have braved it, just because she'd invited him.

He eventually made it in, his body heat steadily warming the water around him. The small grains of sand were rough under his feet. It felt strange to walk on something other than hard-packed dirt, rocks, branches, and concrete. And barefoot, at that.

Things had been chaotic since they'd had to make a run for it and leave the house. On the road to Terminus, he'd risen to a version of himself that he'd accepted but wasn't quite comfortable with yet. Michonne seemed to be comfortable with it, and he wasn't sure what to make of that.

And then Terminus itself had turned out to be a deadly sham.

But he had his precious daughter back. And the rest of his family. Most of them. He was incredibly thankful for that. But he didn't feel quite...comfortable.

He arrived in front of Michonne and lowered to sit on his calves, the cold water rushing at his waist giving him goosebumps.

"I'm so glad for that food bank," Michonne shared. "My stomach was in knots about the food situation. If it was just me, just us, that'd be one thing, but I worry about the kids, you know? Picking stuff on the ground, hunting for small animals, scrounging for berries on the leaves with a magnifying glass: that stuff makes me nervous for them."

"Yeah," he said, in his usual timbre. "Is that what you were thinking about just now?"

"How long have you been watching me?" she asked curiously, cocking her head to observe him.

"Long enough to see you pour water on yourself like some kind of mermaid," he answered, making her chuckle.

"That's not what I was thinking about," she answered. "Actually, I'm glad you showed up, because my thoughts were turning melancholic. I was thinking about how this water's gonna be here long after we're gone."

"Ouch."

" _Yeah._ "

Considering their food mission had turned a little dicey, thanks to Father Gabriel's suspicious reaction to a walker, Rick found her musings especially grim. He was happy to serve as a distraction. Still, she'd been in a happier mood when they'd returned from the food bank, so he was concerned about her existential train of thought.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I was just having a moment. I'm fine. It's beautiful here."

"It is," he agreed as he looked around at the tall trees, abundant green shrubbery and gleaming, smooth rocks. "Take away the water, and we'd be in my wheelhouse."

"That's right," she concurred slowly, remembering his knowledge of setting up snares to capture small animals, which she'd witnessed when they'd been squatting in the woods with Carl on the road to Terminus. "But you're in mine."

She joined her hands together and scooped up the water between them, and she poured it on his head.

Rick took his cue from her and scooped water to get himself wet. His face, his hair, his arms, and his back. In the meantime, Michonne said she would get the soap. She left him and went to the water's edge. She grabbed the soap from the flattened green grass and brown dirt that made up the shore, and she stepped back into the water. She dipped the soap in the stream and scrubbed away the dirt and grass that clung to it, and then she rejoined Rick.

"Thank you," Rick said as he took the white bar from her. He dipped it in the water to wet it again, and then he began to rub it in his hair to work up a lather, his movements fast and hurried.

Michonne cocked her head as she watched him.

"What?" he asked. He handed her the soap to hold and proceeded to vigorously scrub his scalp and run the lather through his strands.

"This is our first shower together," she said cheekily.

Rick grinned. He moved to her left, scooped up water, and rinsed his hair.

Michonne watched the brown water falling from his head and shook her head. Her hair had been as bad.

Rick took the soap from her again and gave his head a second lather. Once that was done, he quickly rubbed the soap on his arms and his chest.

"You don't need to rush," Michonne pointed out.

"What?" Rick asked, having disappeared into his world of quickness and efficiency.

"You're moving very fast. You don't need to rush. I still have some time out here."

Rick blinked at her and then looked at the soap in his hand as if he was seeing it for the first time.

"Give it to me," Michonne said as she stood. She'd noted the concentration on his forehead and far-away look in his eyes when he'd been scrubbing himself.

Rick handed her the soap and exhaled. He noticed for the first time how fast his heart was beating.

"Kneel," Michonne instructed as she moved behind him.

Rick did as directed.

Michonne lathered her hands and then handed him the soap. She lowered to her knees and proceeded to wash his back and his neck, and then she rinsed. After, she stood, moved around, and kneeled to face him. She took the soap, worked up a lather, and washed his hairy chest and his arms.

"I was back in the prison," Rick said with a chuckle that was more air than sound.

Michonne glanced at him briefly to acknowledge that he was talking and continued her task.

"When we first found it, there was so much to do to set it up. There was _a lot_ to do. I was focused on making it as presentable as possible as soon as possible to show everyone that it was a good idea, that it could work. So every day, the point was to get ready as soon as possible and continue clearing the grounds and cell blocks. It gave me something to focus on, something to build."

"It's been almost a year since then," Michonne said as she rinsed the soap away. In the time since they'd cleared the prison, he'd had plenty of time to slow down. "Why'd you go back there?"

"I miss it," Rick shared. "Not that time, but the prison. I can't stop thinking about it," he said as his heart beat heavily.

Michonne stilled her hands on his chest and gave him her full attention. Earlier, he'd asked her if she missed the sword. She truly did not. A month had not yet passed since the Governor's attack, so she wasn't surprised that he couldn't stop thinking about the prison. But she could say with complete confidence now that she knew Rick. She knew there was more to his confession.

"I know it's best to stop thinking about it," Rick admitted. "I know there's no point. The thing to focus on is the here and now, and I'm tryin' to get there, but...with Terminus not being what we needed...I can't help going back to what we had, which is...fuckin' annoyin' me."

A fond memory tugged at Michonne. The first time Rick had cursed in a conversation with her, that night in the cafeteria, he had apologized.

Despite the seemingly simple confession, he looked like there was a war in his mind. "You don't still blame yourself for what happened, do you?" she asked.

Rick shrugged and helplessly shook his head.

"Rick," Michonne gently chastised.

"Michonne, if I could stop it, if there was a switch, I'd flip it. I don't wanna be thinking about it, because there's nothing I can do to take it back."

"I want you to try to stop, because you're being unfair to yourself. _No one_ blames you."

"I don't need them to," he said with a tilt of his head.

"You didn't do anything wrong. And if you think you did, then that means I did everything right, and we still loss. And I was gonna stop looking, remember? It's like I told Carl: sometimes we try, and we still lose."

"I know, but the stakes were so high, Michonne."

"I know," she echoed gently. "It was an entire way of life. We can make it again. That's why _I'm_ okay. What made the prison great: the people, what made it worth staying in: you," she said with a vulnerable shrug of her shoulders, "I still have them. So the _feelings_ I had at the prison, I can still feel those things again. I felt them when I saw Daryl again; when I saw Maggie, Bob, Glenn, and Sasha. Carol and Tyreese. My God, _Judith_."

"That was everything," Rick said with an amazed smile. When Carol had told him that there was something he needed to see, he'd had no idea what was in store. He'd asked her what it was, but all she'd said was _you'll see when we get there_. He had, of course, been prepared for the worse. Considering she'd just rescued them, he'd been expecting her to have some Terminus residents as hostages. Or maybe she'd found a cache of weapons.

"Seeing her right then…" he said. Goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold stream rose on his flesh.

His mind had gone completely blank of everything except Judith while his heart had filled to capacity with joy, love, and a sense of relief that was almost debilitating. He'd broken off into a run, wanting to get to her as quickly as possible. He'd barely seen Tyreese. Judith might as well have been floating in the air.

Holding her again, her light weight a reality in his arms, feeling her soft skin, looking into her innocent eyes. He had eventually seen Tyreese, after showering Judith with kisses and pressing her close to reassure himself that she was real. Because of Tyreese, Judith wouldn't have to be a painful memory that haunted him.

"She survived," he said wondrously to Michonne.

"Just like a Grimes," she said playfully. "You have everything you need to create and build again. It doesn't look like before, I know. But there are still possibilities."

"Things break, but they can still grow," he said, his head lowered. He lifted it to look at Michonne. "Hershel said that. He was subtly making a point to me. He used to make a lot of points to me, like it was his favorite past time."

Michonne smiled at the description of the man that she truly wish she'd gotten to know better.

"Wherever he is right now, I know he doesn't blame me. I know that with everything I am. And yet. I knew talking to the Governor wasn't gonna work. I knew the man. But talking to him was literally the only play I had. I knew it wasn't gonna do anything. We were doomed. In the back of my mind, I was waiting for him to do something."

"You wanna know something weird?" Michonne asked. "He had all types of guns and tanks behind me, but I only thought he was gonna kill me for one second, and then it was gone. He said he didn't want to hurt us, but I didn't believe that shit for a minute. But I wasn't scared. Maybe it was the hell no factor. I didn't think it was gonna be Hershel, but I didn't think it was gonna be _me_. I was waiting for him to do something, too. And when he...when he struck, I moved. Maybe that's why I was ready to move."

Rick couldn't help picturing if it _had_ been her. There was every reason for it to have been her. The Governor had _despised_ her. But he remembered what the man had done to Andrea. When the Governor thought someone _deserved_ to suffer, when his emotions were involved, he made it last. Case in point, the Governor had chosen to kill Hershel in front of him and then tried to choke him to death after a sound beating instead of just putting a bullet through his head from the get go and taking the prison.

The picture of the sword cutting into Michonne's neck refused to form in his mind. He couldn't imagine Michonne not being here. He switched the soap to his left hand and lifted his right hand to cup her cheek. He rubbed his thumb under her eye. The water on her face was drying. "I'm glad you were ready to move," he said softly.

Michonne pressed his large hand to her face. It had been a long time since they'd had a chance to be together like this. They'd had some quiet conversations when they'd been looking for shelter, like everyone else had, but it had been nothing like this. On the road to Terminus, with Carl, their conversations had mostly been about food.

He was right: they'd been way overdue for some privacy.

"Close your eyes," she instructed as she lowered his hand from her face. He raised his eyebrows, questioning her intent, and she said, "We're in my wheelhouse, remember? I want you to close your eyes and listen to the water."

"I'm not the meditating type, Michonne," Rick drawled.

"I'm not saying close them for an hour," she deadpanned. "Do it."

Rick closed his eyes. Michonne took the soap from him, and he lowered his hand. He took a deep breath and puffed out his chest.

"The opposite of relaxing," Michonne commented.

Rick's lips twitched into a smile. He released the breath and made his shoulders go limp.

"Listen to the water," Michonne instructed. "The thoughts will come eventually. But for now, just listen. The only thing you see is the stream. Remember how it looks?"

Behind his lids, Rick saw the dirty water falling from him when he'd been washing his hair. Then the water was clear again, just like that. He could see his feet beneath the current. Michonne's voice filled his mind: the water would be here long after them. It would be here long after him. This made him think of other things that would be here long after him. His first thought was the prison, because he'd just been talking about it. A false answer. His second thought was Carl and Judith. They'd be here long after him. If he had anything to say about it. His third thought was Michonne. He would like her to be here after him. Another thought rippled across his mind, slower than the river but just as clear: he never wanted to see her go, not like that.

His fifth thought was the prison. In a way, it would live on. He wasn't the only one with memories of it. Neither was Michonne. Maggie had memories. Daryl, Glenn, Carl, Carol, Sasha, Tyreese, Bob. They'd all made memories. Most of them had _built_ the prison, right by his side: clearing it, going on runs, keeping the fences clean, patrolling it, finding people, defending it. Building a community. They all had that.

They still had that. They hadn't quite been a community when they'd found the prison. They were one now.

Rick opened his eyes. The stream was somehow louder. It _sounded_ fresh. "Perspective," he said quietly.

"Always works," Michonne touted.

Rick focused on the beautiful woman in front of him. He loved how her eyes softened when she smiled. The delightful rise of her lips never failed to fill him with a bit of wonder. She'd walked into his life and carved a large part of it for herself.

He walked forward on his knees and wrapped his arm around her waist. He leaned in and savored the seconds before the kiss, the narrowing of the space between them, the anticipation of tasting her, the privilege of being in her personal space.

Her eyes fluttered closed when their lips touched, and his did, too, but he knew they wouldn't stay that way. They loved stealing glimpses of one another when they kissed. He thought maybe it was because when they started this back at the prison, they spent more time apart than together, so even when they kissed, they did not want to pass up the chance to see each other. That was his explanation. He liked watching her enjoy his kisses. It enhanced the experience for him.

That only went so far, however, because, like the consummate mermaid, Michonne pulled him under. He followed without question, enticed by how she tasted, how she felt, and how she breathed against his lips. He moved the hand on her waist down to cup her taut behind, his favorite part of her body, the part that never failed to arouse him, even when he was only thinking about it. Feeling on it, however, blew thinking about it right out of the water.

He used his other hand to cup the side of her face, moaning as he released her plump bottom lip and smoothly recaptured her top lip.

Michonne was in a haze when Rick ended the kiss. "Ooo," she cooed as she lowered her free hand from his lower back to cup his ass. She then trailed her palm up his back and then brought it around to paw his chest.

Rick smirked at the obvious want in her eyes, and that cockiness only made her want him more.

Rick took the soap out of her hand, stood, and he went around to stand behind her so that he could finish washing up.

"It has been way too long," Michonne said to herself as she tried to regain her composure. She watched the water rush. A perfect metaphor for how desire had come at her during the kiss.

She took a deep breath and slowly blew it out through pursed lips. Lips that had been thoroughly worked over by Rick. She shook her head, amazed by how he got to her.

"What do you think about Gabriel?" his voice came from behind her.

"Who?" she asked.

Rick turned to look at her, smiling. "Father Gabriel? What do you make of him?"

Michonne blinked, perplexed about why he was asking her to care about that man right now. What he should be asking her is what she wanted to do with the rest of her shower time.

The stream was wet in her ears, pulling her thoughts to the situation between her legs.

She tried to focus. "Um…"

"Father Gabriel," Rick reminded her cheekily.

If he hadn't left her for some privacy, she would've turned around and given him a hard look for his arrogance. Not that he didn't have reason to be arrogant. For goodness sake, she was still trying to remember what she thought of Father Gabriel.

Her eyes widened slightly as an old term came back to her. She was dickmatized. Right here, right now.

"I don't trust him," Rick said.

Deciding to mull over her temporary dickmatization later, brought on by a kiss no less, a superb kiss, Michonne resigned herself to talking about the Father. "You don't believe God's been with him as he walked through the valley of the shadow of all this death?" she asked sarcastically.

"Maybe," Rick said as he cleaned around and under his fingernails. Doing so briefly brought back memories of his showers after work in the old world. "But I know faith without works is dead, so he put in some work to still be here. The question is what. Carl showed me some things he found while we were gone: scratches on the wall behind the church, like someone was trying to get in. And someone carved out _you'll burn for this_ on the wall."

"Woah. Could've been vandals. Someone trying to be ironic."

"Maybe. He thinks it means something, maybe not about Father Gabriel. I agree that it means something, but I think it's about him."

Michonne remembered how Gabriel had panicked at the food bank. She remembered Rick asking him if he'd known the female walker when she was alive. Gabriel hadn't answered, but she had a strong feeling that he'd known her. She also knew that Rick figured the same thing.

"I don't trust him either," she shared. "But he's working out so far. The one I think is a little unpredictable is Abraham. His bedside manner could use a little sprucing up. You know, Sasha and I asked Eugene about the cure while we were in the train car," she revealed as Rick came around to face her.

She briefly looked at his dick and found that it wasn't quite flaccid.

"What did he say?" Rick asked as he kneeled and then sat on his haunches.

"Shit I didn't understand," she answered. "But it sounds like a shot."

"I'm gonna have to make a decision about that soon," he said.

Michonne agreed, remembering that Abraham hadn't wanted to stay more than ten minutes at the church once he'd found the short bus. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

Rick shook his head. "I don't wanna travel miles and miles to another Terminus."

Michonne nodded her agreement. "But on the other hand, this is the government. And Eugene knows what needs to be done."

"If what he needs is still there. I thought we could find shelter from the government once back when Lori was alive, remember?"

Michonne remembered. He'd told her that story after he'd asked her how much she knew about the process of people turning into walkers during one of their conversations at the prison. She'd told him of the different ways she'd seen it happen, and then she'd told him that she thought it was possible that there was something inside of them that activated when they died, no matter how they died. He had confessed that that was the news he was working toward breaking to her.

"In my experience, the government's friendliness only went so far," she commented, remembering the early days of the change.

"What do you think?" Rick asked.

Michonne inhaled and then exhaled. "I don't know. It seems-"

"Unreal?" he interrupted.

She cocked her head. " _Sur_ real," she said. "That's what I keep telling myself: don't be negative. It's not unreal; it's surreal. I mean, to go from having our lives totally uprooted to curing this thing? An end to all of this? My God."

Rick tried to imagine it, and he honestly could not. Not after what just happened on the way to Terminus. But maybe this was an example of the old adage.

"It's always darkest before the dawn," he said. "That's been true a couple of times in my life, especially after the change. It was true when I met Morgan, when I met Glenn. It was true when I met you."

The sentiment robbed Michonne of all words. He'd just called her the dawn, the light that forced the darkness to recede. She wondered if that meant anything special to him, especially since Morgan and Glenn had served a similar purpose. She hoped it did.

Judging by the small smile on his face, she suspected that it did mean something special to him. She suddenly felt very shy. He laid a sweet kiss on her cheek, and she wondered if he could feel how warm it was.

"You're beautiful," he said.

"Thank you."

"An end to all this," he reflected.

Michonne waited for him to share what was on his mind.

Rick didn't know how to voice it. It was a half-formed thought. "What happened with those Claimers...I don't know. I don't regret doin' it." He scoffed. "I didn't _choose_ to do it. I just wanted to end things quickly, and I wanted them to suffer. I wanted to make them stop. I wanted to show 'em."

"And you did," Michonne said, the right corner of her lip ticking up.

Rick narrowed his eyes. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Why would it?" Michonne asked bluntly.

Rick smiled. "I'm glad it doesn't. But it didn't freak you out? Even a little?"

"No. It was...shocking. You definitely put a stop to things. And...I did...I don't know. I wasn't scared, but I did wonder about you after. I wanted to see...I don't know...if you'd change? After I did something that extreme, I changed. I disappeared. I've been watching for that. And you aren't disappearing."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I'm not sure. I guess that's where I am. I'm tryin' to reconcile. I know that this is who I have to be. I have a crystal clear picture of how things are now. I know the rules, and I know what needs to be done. I've found my after. It's about Carl and Judith. But I still have this little voice that's wonderin' where I am in all of that. It's askin'...I don't know...if all I'm made up of now is just...keepin' them alive. And there's nothing beyond that."

Michonne quietly regarded him for a moment. "You followed me out here. That wasn't the father in you. This ain't got nothing to do with Carl and Judith," she teased as she gave him a once over.

Rick chuckled.

"I know what you mean, though," she conceded. "And you're navel-gazing, by the way."

"I know," he muttered. "As if I didn't have enough of doing that at the prison. Shit's for the birds."

She smiled, remembering when she'd expressed the same sentiment about navel-gazing. She smoothed her hand over his wet hair, spreading her fingers when she got to the nape of his neck to run them through the curls.

"I've never seen someone do that: react like me," she said. "The Governor went batshit after I killed his daughter, but he _was_ batshit. You did what you had to do. It was…"

Goosebumps raised all over her flesh. "I did the same thing, Rick. Except I did it because I lost mine. I was too late. You weren't. You aren't disappearing. At least I hope not. I really like you," she said with a one-shoulder shrug.

Rick's heartbeat took off at the confirmation. "I like you, too," he shared. The words hit his ears and sounded like a half truth. It wasn't like. He didn't just like her. He loved her. His throat dried up at the realization.

Oblivious to Rick's epiphany, Michonne continued. "I like knowing that you can protect Carl. That you'll do what it takes. For both of them."

Rick swallowed past his dry throat. "It's not just...I wanted to protect you, too."

Michonne remembered how he'd touched her face to search for any swelling where the Claimer had hit her, and he'd inspected her face again when the sun was up the next day.

"I wasn't thinking about me when it was happening," she said. "My mind was completely on Carl. It was…"

She'd felt like her son's safety was at stake. She'd inwardly panicked about Andre's safety plenty of times before she'd finally lost him, so she was intimately familiar with the double whammy of desperation and helplessness. She was familiar with the type of selflessness that nurturing a child inspired.

The depth of her feelings for Carl had been quite the revelation once everything had settled down after Rick had killed the last Claimer.

She'd been so relieved that Carl was safe and so worried about someone else coming along to hurt him that when Rick had told her to get in the car to spend the night with Carl, after he and Daryl had stripped the Claimers naked, tossed the bodies in the woods, and used their clothes to cover the abandoned car, she had not uttered one word in protest.

She had mulled over her strong, protective feelings for Carl that night as he'd fallen asleep with his head on her lap. She had eventually slept for all of two hours, so anxious she had been about another attack. When she'd woken up with a start after the two measly hours of sleep, Carl had been the first thing on her mind: where was he? Was he okay? She'd remembered then that he was right there with her. As she'd looked down at his sleeping form and listened to his light snoring, watched his ribcage steadily rise and fall, she had accepted her love for him.

It had been surprisingly easy to accept. No agonizing, no second-guessing, not even the urge to run from it.

She looked into Rick's eyes now and said, "I needed you to do what you did. And you did." He'd protected Carl and abated her feelings of desperation and helplessness when that molester had had Carl pinned to the ground, and he'd done it in a surprisingly savage way. He had showed up.

"Just when I didn't think you could get more interesting," she said softly as her hands trailed over the brown hair covering his solid chest. "Stand up."

"Why?" Rick asked as he stood.

He was curious, yet he did it anyway, which made Michonne smile. "Because I've got maybe ten more minutes out here before Carol's supposed to come check on me," she said as she rinsed the sand from his knees. "And I wanna pay my debt."

She rose to her knees and slowly ran her fingers up his strong thighs, her hand grazing over the bullet wound he'd sustained during the Governor's attack.

Rick remembered the debt business, and he couldn't help the smile that graced his lips. "Here?" he asked as he looked around at their open location.

"Mmm-hmm," Michonne murmured as she kissed her way down his happy trail.

"I don't know about that, Michonne," he said, looking at her kissing the indentation between his left thigh and his torso.

"Why?" Michonne asked as she switched sides. She'd felt his lower abdomen tighten and release under her lips when she'd been kissing her way down his happy trail, so she knew he was bullshitting.

"We haven't had much luck doin' this. Or should I say we haven't _brought_ any good luck by doin' this."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." She grasped his dick in her right hand and licked along his length.

"We messed around at the house, and, the next day, we lost it. We messed around at the prison, and we know what happened to that."

Michonne looked up at him in shock and said, "You're full of it. You're _horrible_."

"I'm just sayin': there's a pattern. Now, we do this, and the church'll catch on fire. Father Gabriel was doin' just fine. Now here you come wantin' to mess around."

Michonne burst into laughter. "You're freaking horrible!" she chastised.

"I'm tellin' you: this stream'll dry right up. Bet you we'll outlast it then."

"Oh my God. _Rick_!" she exclaimed as she smacked his thigh. "I hate you."

Rick sported a big grin as he watched her fall apart over his morbid joke. Unable to resist her joyous allure, he bent down and pressed a big kiss to the right side of her neck as he embraced her, almost toppling her over as he leaned to his right.

"It's not funny," Michonne chided when he righted her.

"You're the only one laughing," he correctly pointed out.

Michonne cradled his beautiful face. He wasn't laughing, but he had a huge smile on his face, and she loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. "So, if I'm hearing you correctly, I should keep my lips and my throat to myself for the sake of Gabriel's church and the environment."

The mention of her throat made Rick's stomach flutter. "Mmm. I think you once said I wasn't officer friendly?"

Michonne chuckled.

Rick dropped his voice to a whisper and said, "Fuck Gabriel's church."

Michonne's eyebrows twitched, a sign of her excitement. "Heathen," she scolded flirtatiously.


	4. The Stream, Part 2

**The Stream, Part 2**

Rick straightened and stood expectantly, and that was all Michonne needed. She pushed her locs behind her shoulders and said, "Don't touch me while I do this."

Rick raised his eyebrows at the command. She sometimes said the same when she teased him back in the prison. She'd told him that that sometimes made it better for her. And he would try not to touch. He always did. Sometimes he succeeded. Sometimes he needed to touch her too much and said so, and she'd let him, loving that he couldn't keep his hands off of her.

Considering she planned to take him to completion this time, he didn't know if he could honor her request to the letter. But he would certainly try.

Michonne grasped his dick again and began to build him up. She looked forward to turning his pale dick into a dark pink as she made him hard. She looked forward to the blue and green veins becoming more and more visible the closer he got to his orgasm. She knew by now that the key to breaking him down into shallow breaths and moans was focusing on the underside of the mushroom head of his penis once he was hard enough.

For now, she ran the blade of her tongue along his shaft. It had been too long since she'd gotten a taste of his skin, and the certainty that she was going to finally taste his essence made her nipples hard.

She swirled her tongue around his head and enjoyed the distinct feeling of him swelling in her hand. She closed her lips over half of his head and began to suction as she flicked the tip of her tongue back and forth over his frenulum. He expelled a strained breath above her, and she looked up, smiling even as her mouth watered for more of him.

"You know I won't be able to hold off on this," Rick said breathily, referring to keeping his hands to himself. As it was, he was squeezing the bar of soap every time his hands tingled with the urge to touch her.

She shrugged one shoulder with his dick in her mouth, and that didn't help his resolve at all.

Michonne suctioned her way down the underside of his shaft, and then she held on to one of his thighs as she lightly grabbed his balls with the other and began to suckle. She heard him curse above her as he widened his stance to give her room. She moaned as she binged on his sumptuous sack.

Rick's calves grew weaker as he became more and more sensitive to her stimulations. He raised his eyes to the sky, a loopy smile twitching its way onto his lips. He was determined to take as much as he could, because her tongue and her mouth felt so incredible. The sun beat down on him, and the water rushed at his legs. A breeze blew over his wet skin. A hoarse moan escaped his lips, and his eyes drifted closed as she continued the magnificent onslaught on his balls.

Eventually, she got the best of him. "Ugh, Michonne," he breathed as he held her head still with one hand and quickly stepped away.

"Come here, Rick," Michonne commanded as she straightened to full height on her knees. She didn't appreciate him rudely taking his balls away.

"I told you I wouldn't last," Rick said of touching her as he stepped back up.

His dick was a deep pink, which made Michonne smile.

"I want to touch you," he said as he smoothed his hand over her frizzy roots. He also wanted to drop the damn soap in the water so that he could touch her with both hands.

Looking up into his eyes, Michonne brought his dick to her mouth and proceeded to very lightly wiggle the tip of her tongue on the opening of his tip.

 _Oh my God,_ Rick mouthed inaudibly, as a torrent of fresh bliss inundated him.

Michonne was rewarded with his precum. It pooled out of the tip of his dick and right on her tongue. A precursor to the main course.

She finally took his cock into her mouth. She gently swirled her head as she sucked, and she loved sucking Rick. She loved being on her knees in front of him; she loved him watching her; she loved him touching her; she loved how responsive he was. She loved having this access to him, where he could lead their group out of a cannibal community, guns blazing, lead them to shelter, food and some water, and then come to her for a reprieve, to feel like himself. Come to her for this.

"You're so good at this," Rick praised.

She loved _that_ , too. She sucked with more pressure and increased her speed, pulling a guttural groan out of him.

He began trying to hump her mouth, which let her know that he was close.

Rick was as much of a protector as she was, a powerful defender like her, her equal, and that turned her on immensely.

She opened up her throat and swallowed him down, slowly so that her gag reflex didn't act up and ruin things.

Rick dropped the soap without registering it and held her head with both hands as his stomach fluttered wildly. He didn't know if he should stay still or not, but he had a strong desire to fuck her throat, so he easily submitted to that desire. He slowly pulled his hips back, retracting his dick, and then very, very slowly pushed it up, running his length down her throat. It was divine torture and he was dying a slow, titillating death, especially when she swallowed while his dick was in, squeezing him in the process.

"Michonne," he moaned as he fucked. "Oooh, shit." Her throat was warm and snug, and it was a perfect fit for his dick. It felt so good that he was almost standing on his toes. He was ignorant to the scenery around him. The only thing of beauty he saw was Michonne's head over his pelvis.

He was literally hunched over, holding her head still as he fucked, and Michonne's ego couldn't be more massive. She would let him come directly in her throat if she was on that level, but she wasn't.

When he pulled back this time, she firmly held his hips in place and lifted her head. She swallowed, and her cheeks went a little numb. She grabbed them with one hand and gave them a little shake, and then she resumed sucking his dick.

After stroking into her cushy throat, it didn't take Rick long to burst. He was holding her hair away from her face, and she was sucking fast and hard. She enjoyed blowing him, and that fact drove him crazy. His balls reached capacity, and his dick reached the pinnacle of stimulation.

His orgasm hit him hard, and he did go up on his toes. His eyes snapped shut, and his mouth dropped open, and he moaned desperately, his hips snapping forward of their own accord as he ejaculated impressively in Michonne's hungry mouth.

Michonne swallowed his come and wished there was more.

It was the most powerful orgasm Rick had had with her yet. She kept sucking, gradually lifting her head until she was only sucking the head of his dick. He felt like his soul was leaving his body.

He settled on the soles of his feet and arched his back, lifting his head to the sky, and he moaned way too loud and way too long as she tormented his dick into glorious submission.

He reached his limit and pulled his dick away from her with a tortured cry. Trembling and twitching, he squatted and then fell forward onto his knees, unable to support his own weight.

Michonne walked forward on her knees and hugged him until he stopped twitching. "You're perfect," she said. "And I told you: you'll never want to stop me again."

Rick smiled as he caught his breath.

Once he had full control of his senses again, the only thing on his mind was bringing Michonne her own release.

Michonne saw the look in his eyes. She wanted nothing more than to let him put his thoughts into action. "I'm pretty sure we don't have much time left, so." She dipped her hand beneath the water to clean off her arousal.

"You don't know that. You don't have a watch," Rick quipped.

Michonne chuckled. "Save it for another time," she suggested sultrily.

Rick kissed her. "Oh," he said suddenly, breaking the kiss. He stood and looked for the soap. He easily found it. "Thank God for sand," he said as he picked it up.

They finished off at the stream and prepared to leave. Michonne headed toward the shore first. Rick was more than happy to watch. Her back tapered down nicely to a narrow waist that flared out into small hips before continuing to shapely legs. She paused on her way to the shore and swung her hair to her right. She meticulously squeezed excess water out of them, starting at her roots and going down to the tips.

She resumed walking, and her ass was rounded to perfection. He'd never put much thought into whether he was an ass man, breast man, leg, or any of that, and being an ass man had been irrelevant to his life for over a decade. But he couldn't ignore what was in his face, and Michonne's ass was very relevant. It protruded alluringly, and he looked at it whenever he had the opportunity.

And as he looked at it now, it began to bounce a little more than before, lifting a little higher than before, and coming down a little harder. It also seemed to protrude out a little more. Curious he tilted his head, and then he raised his eyes and took in her whole frame. She was walking differently. She knew he was looking. He grinned. Oh, he loved her.

When Michonne reached the water's edge, she looked over her shoulder at Rick and said, "You're welcome."

"Thank you," Rick said. Speaking of not ignoring what was in his face, he really needed to bury his face in her ass as soon as he could.

"My turn," Michonne said as she turned to fully face him, her hair swinging.

"What?" Rick asked apprehensively as his smile slipped.

"Walk."

Rick rolled his eyes. He began to walk toward her but only because he was getting out of the water. "Are you really gonna watch me?" he asked as he approached.

"Yes," Michonne answered as her eyes dipped to his pelvis. His cock wasn't completely soft. It was impressive. He was impressive. His bowed hairy legs, thighs, narrow hips, hairy chest, and that beard. Not to mention his face. He was beautiful all over. And she would have to ignore how horny she was.

"Thank you," she said when he reached her.

"I'm holding soap," he deflected.

"You've got quite the situation on your face," she said, as she caressed his wet beard.

"Yeah, I caught a glimpse in one of the church's windows."

"You should've used the razor I got you."

"May I remind you that the day you gave me that razor, a virus started running through the prison, and we barely had time to catch our breaths after that?"

"Excuses, excuses," she tsked.

Rick chuckled. He bent over and put the soap inside its packaging. He rinsed his hand, and they proceeded to get dressed.

Rick looked up from fastening his belt and paused. "Michonne," he called her evenly, his eyes on her chest.

"Yeah?" Michonne asked, looking from the bra strap that she was fixing on her shoulder to him.

"I think that's the ugliest bra I've ever seen."

Michonne's mouth fell open. "Excuse you," she said as she shifted her weight to one leg.

The bra was grey, and the positive ended there. Thick, faded white frills jutted from the middle of the cups, where her nipples were. For some reason, the thick, faded white material was placed on the sides of the bra, this time in a mesh design. He didn't understand what the whole thing was supposed to convey.

"I got it at a _food bank_ ," Michonne said under his confused stare. "You know who can't be choosers? Beggars."

"The only nice thing about that bra is that it comes off."

"Oh, you got _jokes_ , Richard. Watch and see if it comes off any time soon."

Rick laughed loudly. "I bet you it will."

He continued to get dressed. Michonne shook her head and continued to do the same. Rick cocked an eyebrow as he watched her slip on a lavender tank top. So the other nice thing about the bra was that it pushed her breasts up.

Oblivious to Rick's ogling, Michonne slipped on a leather vest and zipped it. She looked up just as Rick went back to slipping on his filthy white shirt. A thought occurred to her, and she shook her head again. "Smarty Pants," she called him.

Rick looked at her as he straightened the shirt.

"You didn't bring a change of clothes so that no one would get suspicious?"

"Yeah," he confirmed as he squatted and picked up his watch.

"You look clean, and your hair's wet."

Rick paused fastening the watch. He rolled his eyes, and Michonne chuckled.

"Whatever," he said as he fastened the watch. "No one's gonna say anything. We could say I went in after you, and you took up watch, but I'm supposed to come out here with Carl and Judith."

"How are you gonna explain _that_ to him?" she asked, referring to his wet hair.

"He's not gonna ask," Rick insisted. "Even if he does, he's not gonna pry. So what do you think?" he asked as he took a knee to put his first shoe on.

Michonne mimicked him.

"Do you wanna do all that?" he asked. "You finished, and then I went in, and you kept watch?"

Michonne grimaced. The extent of her and Rick's relationship was really more private than it was a secret. Although, they did have to be considerate of Carl. But as far as everyone else was concerned, she didn't want to do cartwheels to keep them out of their business. It wasn't that serious. "Nah," she said.

"Good," Rick retorted as he switched legs.

When they were done, they picked up their guns and began walking in the direction of the church. Rick walked close to her and intertwined their fingers.

"So tell me," Michonne began, "Are you religious?"

Rick gave her an amused look. "After what you just did to me, you're askin' if I'm religious? Yes, I am," he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

Michonne laughed. She was clean, and she'd finally gotten a taste of Rick, literally bringing him to his knees in the process, and he'd checked her out, kissed her, and given her a lot of compliments. She felt like she was glowing on cloud nine.

She raised up and kissed his cheek. "Be serious."

"Do I believe in God? Yeah. I went to church before, almost every Sunday. Was it mostly because that's how I was brought up? Yeah. Some things'll happen now, and it'll make me think that someone has to be up there. Like finding Judith again. Other things'll happen, and I'll think the only people we can really count on is ourselves. We've only got us. I hear someone like Gabriel speak, and I wanna roll my eyes. The Lord is the only weapon he needs. My ass."

"He only confesses his sins to God, Rick," Michonne said, making fun of the Father.

"Right," Rick responded sarcastically. "What about you?"

"Pretty much the same, only I stopped going to church years ago. Mike and I went when Andre was born so he could be introduced to the congregation in both of our parents' churches. His parents would take Andre sometimes, but we were both out of the church. I was raised Baptist, and he was Catholic."

"We were Baptists," Rick said of he and Lori.

"That night in the house, after I left you and went downstairs, I prayed before I went to sleep. It was really quick and short, but I knew who I was talking to. I prayed for Judith, that she was out there somehow and with someone, even if we never saw her again."

Rick stopped walking, which made her to stop. "Really?" he asked.

Michonne shrugged and nodded. "I couldn't bring myself to believe that she was gone, but I also knew that I shouldn't force the issue with you and Carl. I had no proof. Just hope. And probably a heavy dose of denial."

Rick felt himself tearing up, touched by her admission. "You're amazing, you know that?" he asked hoarsely as he squeezed her hand.

Michonne smiled.

"Just thought you should know that," he said. He began to walk, but Michonne stepped in his way. She threw an arm around his neck and kissed him.

* * *

Ahead on the path, Carol hurried out of the woods and toward the church.

"Hey!"

Her heart jumped in her throat, and she turned around. "What?" she asked Daryl, confused.

"You alright?" Daryl asked as he approached her, his crossbow slung over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered skittishly. "Why?"

Daryl shrugged. "Just askin'. Everything okay back there?" he asked, nodding his head in the direction of the stream. He knew that Carol was partnered up with Michonne in terms of keeping time.

"Yeah," she answered faintly. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, her voice stronger. She laid a hand on her head and tried to feel normal again.

"Where's Michonne?" Daryl asked, not understanding what was up with Carol.

"She's fine," Carol said. She remembered how _fine_ Michonne was, and she started laughing. "She's...she's very fine," she said nodding.

"Where is she?" Daryl asked, squinting.

Carol wasn't one to gossip. She really wasn't. Truly.

She stepped closer to Daryl, and she lowered her voice and said, "She's with Rick."

Daryl relaxed at that information. Carol's behavior wasn't making any sense, but Rick being with Michonne made sense, so he stopped worrying. He nodded at Carol and started for the church, but she grabbed his arm and stopped him.

Carol crossed her arms tight and said, "She's with _Rick_."

"Yeah, I heard you," Daryl said, air scraping over his vocal chords to make sound.

Carol rolled her eyes. Daryl _would_ be the person she shares this juicy secret with. She uncrossed her arms and said, "Daryl. Look at me. Hear me. She's _with_ Rick. She's _with_ _Rick_ ," she repeated as she spread her fingers and bumped her palms together, her fingers intertwining each time her palms met. "I saw them!" she whispered intensely.

Daryl's eyes widened exponentially, and the sight was so foreign that it took Carol by surprise.

"What the fuck?" Daryl asked, more surprised that she'd seen them than by the fact that they were together.

The nuance flew over Carol's head, however. " _Yeah_. I mean, can you believe it? First of all, that is a position that I never needed to see either of them in, but...I mean other than that, hey. They deserve it. Michonne was about ten minutes over her time, so I went to check on her, and...yeah."

"How long did you stay?" Daryl asked suspiciously.

Carol balked. "I mean, of course I didn't _stay_. I was so shocked that I got out of there. I kept expecting them to hear me and put a bullet through my back for intruding," she said, dissolving into laughter again at her irrational thought.

Daryl shook his head, smiling. "Man, I knew it. What were they doin'?"

"Oh, I'm not gonna answer that," Carol said, sobering immediately.

"Come on, you started this."

"No, this is about Michonne's-and Rick's-dignity. No," she said, shaking her head with her eyes closed.

Daryl sucked his teeth. "I knew it," he repeated. "I saw how they were in the prison."

"Really?" Carol asked.

"You didn't? They were like that even before you left."

"Before I left? That's a cute way of putting it."

Daryl ignored her sour grapes. "They were always together. Rick never spent that much time with anybody, especially not after Lori died. Hell, I don't think he spent that much time with Lori when she was alive. Not like that."

"I'd see them together, but I never thought anything of it," Carol said.

"She was always askin' about him," Daryl revealed.

"Really?"

"Yeah, every time she came back from lookin' for the Governor. And back when I'd go with her, Rick was always askin' me how it went. The first two times, I thought he was talkin' about the whole thing, you know? The whole trip, the search. The third time, after I told him the jackasses we came up against, what we found and didn't find, he went, 'How was Michonne? Was she okay?'"

Carol burst into laughter. "I don't know if you realize it, but you look very offended right now," she gulped as she continued to crack up, her stomach tightening.

Daryl shook his head. It had been the damndest thing. He had talked for a full two minutes, and Rick hadn't given a shit from the moment he'd started. "That ain't right," he said to Carol, who stumbled backward from laughing so hard.

Carol had been in a deep funk, to put it mildly. Between being kicked out of the prison, reuniting with Tyreese, of all people, Tyreese's forgiveness after her knee-jerk preservationist reaction when Karen got sick, and having to put down Lizzy, she'd had a lot on her mind. Another thing that had been on her mind was the possibility of Sophia turning out like Lizzy if she'd lived. Not every kid could be Carl. And she probably wouldn't be who she was now if Sophia had lived. She wasn't this person when her daughter had been alive. She'd been a survivor only in the passive sense.

This world had warped Lizzy's perception of normal and real. Would that have been Sophia? It was all so much to keep in her brain.

So while stumbling on Michonne pleasuring Rick had been absurd, the more time passed, the more she thought it was also delightful. It was nice to know that good things could still happen to them.

And she couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed this hard.

 **The End**


End file.
